


Now you sleep, on your own

by DoubleL27



Series: A Hazy Shade of Stevie [4]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Drug Use, Domestic Violence, F/F, Flashback, Recreational Drug Use, Teenage kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: Stevie remembers the last time Twyla made her cupcakes and the last time they were really friends.
Relationships: Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Series: A Hazy Shade of Stevie [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569649
Comments: 18
Kudos: 27
Collections: Schitt's Creek Open Fic Night 2.0





	Now you sleep, on your own

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to my beta [Redacted] for going through this with a fine toothed comb, catching my errors and making this the best experience possible for you.
> 
> Title is from the fourth track on the album III by the Lumineers, It Wasn't Easy to be Happy For You.
> 
> This chapter takes place in a flashback when Stevie and Twyla were children and we know canonically how dark Twyla's life has been, and Stevie's mirrors her experience. There is minimal violence in this chapter, but there is some. Please check the tags and stay safe.

Stevie stared at the Tupperware box of cupcakes on the table. There were only a handful remaining of the original dozen left in the box. Twyla had gotten a lot better at baking since they were kids. Like a lot better, in ways that her smoothies did not suggest Twyla was capable of. The pair of them had devoured three each after Twyla had dropped them off. In the past few hours, Stevie had eaten them almost unconsciously in between checking in guests and handing out towels. 

Now, faced with another lull in her schedule, Stevie should have picked up her book or played another game of solitaire, or both. Instead, she kept staring at what was left of her birthday cupcakes. Without being able to stop it, her mind traveled back to the last time she had received these particular cupcakes. 

* * *

“Stevie! Please!”

Stevie wanted to cross her arms and shove her hands in her armpits, but it would ruin Twyla’s careful work with her nails. She shifted on Twyla’s bed, eliciting a giant squeak from ancient springs. Twyla knelt on the floor in front of her, long spindly legs folded up underneath her. Her face was attempting to fold into a pout, but her irrepressible grin kept poking through. Stevie settled for a half-hearted glare. “It’s bad enough you put lipstick and nail polish on me. We aren’t doing any more.”

“It’s your birthday,” Twyla reminded her, all attempts of pouting forgotten. “You should at least look pretty.”

“For who? You? It’s not like I am going anywhere else.” 

Stevie flopped back onto Twyla’s bed and looked up at the ceiling. The stars they had decorated the room with years ago were still that chemical shade of green, but when the lights would go off they would glow bright. They’d made up their own constellations: a cat, a motel, a tree, and a unicorn. 

“Do you want to go anywhere else?” 

Turning her head to the side, Stevie saw the thoughtful frown on Twyla’s face that matched her forlorn tone. “No. People suck.”

“People don’t suck,” Twyla corrected, organizing the nail polish into neat rows in her caboodle. “They just don’t all know how to be with other people.”

Stevie shot up and stared at Twyla. “How can you say that? Have you seen _your family_ ? _Have you seen my family?_ ”

Twyla shrugged, unbothered by Stevie’s outburst. She unfolded herself like a flower blooming for the first time and stretched. Stevie’s mouth dried up instantly, but Twyla continued puttering around the room, seemingly unaffected. “Most people just think more of themselves than they think of anyone else. When you think only of yourself it’s really easy to hurt people.”

Well, both their families were full of selfish fucks. That wasn’t a surprise. Stevie wanted to pack all of her things and leave Schitt’s Creek permanently. Money was kept curled in a tight wad under her pillow for a rainy day and her duffle bag was always partially packed. There was a bus in Elmdale, she would just have to get herself there. And Twyla. She couldn’t imagine a world without Twyla. 

In her mind, they always escaped to somewhere like Vancouver or Toronto. Stevie was pretty sure they couldn’t get across the border with their exactly zero passports and forms of id. They couldn’t even fucking drive. But they would figure it out, find a place to live, even if it was a shelter, and make their own way in the world. Anything would be better.

What she said was, “I guess.”

“Cupcake?”

Stevie eyed the plate in Twyla’s hands. Somewhere in her fantasy, Twyla had brought out the birthday treat she made yearly without fail. Several lopsided cupcakes sat on the plate. Care had clearly gone into making them, but the frosting was still applied in ways that made them look clumpy. 

A pit was forming in Stevie’s stomach at the thought of having to try them. Her friend had to have sensed it, as her wide-eyed look was full of pleading. “They’re better, I promise. I practiced a few times. I think I got them right this time.”

Stevie picked up a cupcake carefully and tried to peel back the liner. Every time she went to try, her nails twisted too close with the still unstable polish. “Twy! We should have had cupcakes before nail polish.”

“Oops. We haven’t done mine yet. Let me do it.”

Twyla’s hand brushed against Stevie’s and tingles traveled up her arm and into her chest. It was stupid. She had known Twyla her whole life but in the last year, something had shifted. Stevie didn’t know how she felt about it. Twyla was her rock, her North star, her constant. Without her, Stevie wasn’t sure how to proceed in the world. The shift made everything feel uneven and swampy, like Stevie might just slip through if she made one wrong move.

“Here. One perfect cupcake.” Twyla’s head tilted to the side as she regarded the lopsided nature of the cupcake. “Nearly perfect. Happy Birthday, Stevie.”

“Thanks, Twyla.”

Stevie took a careful bite, feeling Twyla’s eyes on her. The first year Twyla had made her cupcakes they had essentially been rocks coated in butter. Last year, they had been chocolate dust held together by a small miracle, with a slightly liquidy frosting. This year, however, they tasted like cupcakes. They were still slightly drier than a fabulous cupcake, but they weren’t dust. The frosting, lovingly smeared across the top definitely helped with the dryness. 

“It is better.” Stevie licked at the side of her mouth. “Much better.”

Twyla stretched herself upwards, seeming to grow taller at the compliment. “I told you. I practiced.”

Quickly, Stevie polished off the rest of the cupcake, licking at her fingers as she went, trying not to ruin the nail job that Twyla had done. She looked up and found Twyla just staring at her, a quiet smile fluttering around her lips. It did funny things to Stevie’s insides. 

She didn’t really want to think about it. 

“Can you peel me a second?”

“Sure.” A frown fluttered onto Twyla’s face as she focused, out of place as a palm tree in Schitt's Creek. Her nimble fingers slowly peeled at the silvery cup, the line in her forehead deepening. There was still no real smile as she handed the cupcake over and her eyes cast to the floor. “School’s going to be weird without you next year.”

Stevie licked at the frosting on the top of the cupcake. Things were far too serious here. She went for a joke. “You mean because no one likes to talk to us because our parents are trashy?” 

Twyla looked up at Stevie, her sage green eyes wide. “Because you’re my best friend.”

“Twy, if anyone is an asshole to you, you just tell me and I will kick their ass.”

“You can’t fight your way out of everything, Stevie.”

“Watch me.” 

Several cupcakes later, Stevie did a terrible job on Twyla’s nails. Twyla refused to let her redo the paint job because ‘they were done with love’ and she didn’t want to change them. Stevie could still make out the lumpy edges and the parts that were still slightly bare in patches. 

Stevie reached into her pocket and pulled a half-used joint out of her pocket. “I nicked this from my mom when she was out of it last night. Want some?”

“Sure.”

They swapped the joint back and forth. Sometimes one of them would breathe in too deep and end up in a coughing fit. The smoke burned Stevie’s lungs but she liked the floaty feeling that came with it. Soon, she and Twyla were doing little but giggling at anything and everything. 

They laid side by side in Twyla’s bed, each on their sides and facing in towards each other. Twyla’s tiny television played in the background, the signal grainy and the sound tinny and high pitched. It wasn’t like they were watching whatever movie of the week was on. Stevie pillowed her hands underneath her head and looked at Twyla and her red hair spreading across the pillow. She picked up one of the loose curls and wrapped it around her finger. It was different from her own plain, straight brown hair. Stevie rubbed the hair curl between her fingers, enjoying the silky feel of the strands slipping through her fingers. 

Twyla reached a slim finger out and began tracing a pattern Stevie couldn’t follow on Stevie’s wrist. “Stevie, what is it like kissing boys?”

Stevie snorted. “Mostly gross, they smell and it’s sloppy. I cleaned off way to much spit from my face when Mike kissed me after the dance.”

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever going to kiss me.”

“Twyla, you’re so pretty. Most people want to kiss you.”

Twyla rolled her eyes quickly before dropping her gaze to watch her own finger on Stevie’s wrist. “I want someone who just wants to kiss me and not, you know, more.”

Stevie felt her stomach knot at the words that had just spilled from Twyla’s lips. They usually told each other everything and the thought that anyone had harmed Twyla, and worse that Twyla hadn’t told her, made Stevie want to be sick. She didn’t want to hear the answer but she didn’t want to not know. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she asked, “Twyla?”

“I took care of it. My last step-father taught me how to break a guy’s nose.”

Relief filled Stevie at the casual way Twyla responded. She wasn’t bothered, and in fact, seemed proud of herself. The grin that split Twyla’s face was bright enough to light up the whole room in the glow of the television. Stevie felt her stomach unknot and tangle in a pleasant way. 

“Well, if you want to practice kissing, we could do that,” Stevie mumbled, trying to sound casual and more experienced than she was. “I mean, it would just be stupid practice. It wouldn’t be like anything.”

Stevie glanced up to see Twyla staring back at her with earnest eyes. “Okay.”

Stevie leaned over and pressed her lips to Twyla’s. This was much better than kissing boys. Twyla’s lips were soft, and she smelled like flowers and chocolate and vanilla, mingled with leftover pot. There was no excess spit or jabbing tongues. Stevie had to admit it was how she had imagined kissing to be. 

Stevie pulled back and opened her eyes and watched Twyla’s flutter open as well. 

“That wasn’t gross.”

Stevie felt color heating her cheeks. “It was better than nice.”

They grinned and giggled at each other. Stevie didn’t want to have to leave Twyla’s bedroom and go back to the real world ever again. Stevie leaned across the space between and kissed Twyla again. 

A pleasant, warm feeling curled inside Stevie’s chest and unfurled like vines as Stevie tilted her head, moving the kiss from a light peck to something deeper. Her hand slid into Twyla’s auburn waves and she cupped the nape of her neck. A hand caressed up Stevie’s own arm and-- 

Suddenly, the world exploded with slamming doors and breaking glass and shrieks. Stevie and Twyla fell apart and rolled off the bed, coming to their feet with the practice of people who had to get up ready to run too many times. The cacophony stormed through the trailer, shaking the walls and causing both girls to wrap their arms around themselves. Stevie could make out her mom shouting her name in between other things. 

The door to Twyla’s bedroom was thrown open and Stevie watched Twyla jump. She wanted to comfort her, but Twyla’s mom was already inside. 

“You’re leaving,” Teresa spat at her. 

Stevie recoiled and almost fell back into the bed. “I—“

“Of course she’s leaving!” Stevie heard the slur in her mother’s voice as her bony fingers wrapped around Stevie’s wrist. On instinct, Stevie pulled to try and shake free, but her mother’s fingers tightened like a vice and pain shot up her arm. “We wouldn’t darken your door again if you came begging.”

“I don’t allow whores in my life, Donna!”

“I’m the whore? Me?!” The laugh that bubbled out of Donna Budd’s mouth was nothing short of malevolent and Stevie wanted to be anywhere but here. “How long did it take you to figure out Tony was Twyla’s father?”

“I did not go in to your house and fuck your husband!”

“Your husband has fucked half this town! In or out of this trailer. Not that I would fuck him in your bed, who knows what I would catch in there.”

“Get out!”

“Gladly!”

Stevie tried to wrench her wrist out of her mother’s grasp as she was yanked towards the door. The trouble was, Donna Budd had always been stronger than she looked and Stevie couldn’t escape. She glanced back to see Twyla standing there, arms wrapped around her middle, seemingly shrinking into the background. Stevie wanted to reach out and say something, her free hand already making a move, but Twyla’s mom shut the door as soon as Stevie was on the other side again. 

Her mother was spitting nails as they banged down the small hallway. “You are never speaking to that girl again, do you understand? Bad enough that her father is in prison and her mom is a whore.”

“Mom, Teresa is your best friend,” Stevie pointed out, following her mother’s halting steps down the stairs from the trailer door, trying not to fall. 

“Was.” Stevie was tugged forward, her mother’s motions as sharp as her tone. Stevie stared at the ground hard as she tried to get her feet back under her. “She knew who Jack was before she married him. Is it my fault that he got frisky with me?”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Stevie, I do not have to explain myself to you. Get in.” 

Stevie’s wrist was released as suddenly as it had been snatched. Impulse was to pick it up and cuddle it close, but showing any sign of weakness while her mother was in this state was never good. She let her hand fall by her side and took a deep breath. Her eyes shifted to the car and then back to her mother. Poking Mom at this stage was never a good idea, but neither was getting behind the wheel with her. 

“You shouldn’t be driving. We can walk.”

“Stevie, it is fucking January. I am not freezing to death. Let’s go.” Donna Budd slammed the door of the truck, muttering _ungrateful bitch_ under her breath, and Stevie wondered if her mom meant her or Mrs. Sands.

It would only be worse if she refused. Stevie got into the car with dread pooling in her stomach. Carefully, quietly, so as not to enrage the already upset woman beside her, Stevie shut her door and fastened her seatbelt. Rather than engage in conversation, Stevie closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool glass of the window allowing the vibrations of the window to slide ride into her skull. Perhaps if she pretended hard enough, she could be back in Twyla’s tiny, ancient bed, curled up and sleeping. 

* * *

“Umm, hello, what are these?”

Steive’s eyes jerked up from the blank space she had been staring at on her desk. David was leaning on the counter, his hand hovering over the box of her cupcakes, a grin dancing on his face. Stevie had to pull herself back together, shaking her head to dislodge old, painful memories. A scoff slipped out from her lips and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Uh, they’re cupcakes, David.” Stevie picked one up and slowly pointed at it like she was talking to a particularly small child. “See, cake bottom, frosting top. Cupcakes.”

“Uh, yeah, but where did they come from? They look homemade.” David speared her with a sharp look. “Don’t tell me that Jake is back for his pony.”

Stevie carefully placed her display cupcake back into the box and threw a curled lip David’s way. “Okay, gross.”

David’s hands flew up to protect himself, but the smirk lingered. “It was his nickname, not mine!”

“Still gross coming from you. Also, one,” Stevie added, holding up a finger as she paused between each word, “Jake could barely make cereal and two, I am over that phase.”

David frowned, his eyebrows drawing low on his face and waved his hand over the Tupperware box. “And the cupcakes sprang out of thin air?”

Stevie felt her face contort into what was definitely a smile. Heat spread over her cheeks and she tilted her face to have her hair cover them. “Twyla made them.”

Thankfully, her best friend remained entirely oblivious to any feelings she might have been having. David’s hand recoiled from the box of cupcakes and his face crumpled with disgust. “Oh, ew. I hope they’re better than her poop smoothies.”

“Hey, don’t be rude about my cupcakes.” Stevie snatched the open box off of the table and cradled them close to her chest. Twyla had made them, for her. The last time anyone had made anything specifically for Stevie to have had been, well, since Twyla had made her birthday cupcakes at thirteen. “They’re actually quite good.”

“So, you’ll let me-”

David’s hand was already hovering in the empty space between them. Stevie slapped it out of the way and grabbed the top to the box. She jammed it on while sending another glare David’s way.

“No. Nope. You’ve been rude start to finish here. You need to earn a cupcake. What are you doing for me, today? It’s my birthday. I should be taken care of. Twyla bought me cupcakes and _you_ are my _best_ friend, so you better top these.”

“Okay, one, how was I to know that Twyla, of all people, was going to bring you fucking cupcakes? And, and,” David continued, waving his hands, flustered and repeating himself. “I have plans. Lots of plans. Let’s go.”

“Does this plan involve getting drunk with you and Patrick on wine from the store? Because that’s not very imaginative. We do that at least twice a week.”

“Get your coat,” David snapped.

Stevie carefully tucked the box of cupcakes under her arm and headed for the back office to grab her things. She might give David a cupcake if her birthday plans were especially good. Not that they needed to be. She hadn’t even liked celebrating her birthday for years. The memories and the uncomfortable feeling of having any attention centered on her had always made her avoid anything to do with celebrating. The shift had only come recently with the explosion of the Roses into her sleepy life and their need to push their way past all of her stupid walls.

“You don’t even like your birthday!”

Stevie rolled her eyes as she shoved her hands through the sleeves of her coat, feeling known. Stupid David and his stupid ability to see through her. “Maybe I changed my mind! Maybe, I deserve to be celebrated.”

What a weird fucking concept that was. 

Twyla’s voice crept back through her head _I shouldn’t have stopped._

Neither of them should have. But that was a thought for another day. Right now, her best friend had some nebulous plans to celebrate her birthday and she was going to mock him for most of it. 

Stevie tucked the box under her arm and tossed the strap of her bag over her head before swinging back out the door to face David and his parka. “Let’s go.”


End file.
